Emerald Fire
by Sir Gwydion
Summary: The clouds of war are gathering, and the fate of Alagaësia rests in the hands of Morzan's children . . . all three of them.
1. Of Plots and Mysteries

**Greetings!**

**I have a couple of things I need to say before I get on with the story. First, I am not Christopher Paolini, I do not own the amazing works of fiction _Eragon _and _Eldest, _nor do I own the characters out of them.**

**Second, please keep in mind that I don't have the ability to look any of this stuff up. I own a copy of Eragon, but it is in a sorry state. I bought it at a local book sale a few weeks ago. It has seventeen missing pages, mysterious food stains on almost every remaining page, and ripped dust jacket. My facts might not all be straight. Please tell me if you spot anything wrong!**

**Lastly, I will be making up many of the ancient language words that I will use. But not without basis! On his site, Christopher Paolini says that he based the ancient language off Old Norse. Well, so have I. I'll be keeping a growing dictionary of all the words at the end of each chapter. Not all of the words in it will be from the ancient language, because I was in a tight spot for a few names, and they just looked too good to pass up. **

**Enjoy!**

**Sir Gwydion**

Chapter One: Of Plots and Mysteries

Roran didn't think he would ever get used to riding on Saphira's back. It seemed utterly wrong for a man to be so high in the air, which was, in his mind, the rightful territory of birds, not of legends. _And legend my cousin and his dragon have become, _he thought. He still found it difficult to reconcile his moody younger cousin — almost brother— to this new, powerful, deadly Eragon who spoke with elves, was befriended and adopted by dwarves, consulted by the leader of the Varden, and fought enemy Riders. Roran thought of the great red dragon he'd seen the day of the battle, and its Rider too. Murtagh. It was strange to think of that hostile man as his cousin, the son of his aunt, Selena. And also, like Eragon, the son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn, who was slain by Brom, the village story teller. He shook his head. He'd given up trying to make sense of it all.

As much as he might dislike flight on dragon-back, though, Roran would have endured far more discomfort then this to get to Helgrind and the Ra'zac, and most importantly, Katrina.

"How long?" he asked Eragon curtly.

"We should reach the area around Helgrind before dark." Even Eragon's voice was different now. It seemed to thrum with power, as if all the spells he'd spoke since Saphira's egg hatched had seeped into his lungs.

Roran squinted at the sun, low in the west. _Good, _he thought. _Not more then an hour's travel till we arrive then. _He felt at his belt for his hammer.

Sure enough, just as the clouds on the horizon were beginning to loose the bloody tinge of sunset, Saphira angled downward, to land in the cover of the trees which bordered on one side of Dras-Leona.

Gratefully, Roran slid off of Saphira's back and set about making camp. After the long weeks of travel with Carvahall, he knew what the essentials were: Food, shelter, and fire. As he was about to light a fire, though, Eragon stopped him.

"I don't want the Raz'ac to see the smoke and come to investigate," he explained. "They're stronger in the dark. I want to fight them on our own terms, not their's."

Roran nodded. It made sense. "How will we keep warm?"

"Saphira has enough fire in her stomach to warm all of Carvahall. We'll just sleep close to her."

Roran eyed the massive dragon, with her dagger-like teeth and scythe-like claws, then dismissed any misgivings. He trusted Eragon.

-

That night, Eragon's waking dreams were troubled. Dark mist spiraled against the hazy background of stars and leaf-clad tree limbs. He felt his lips move in an unconscious utterance. The mist had blotted out the sky. Far away, he could here someone weeping as if her heart were going to break, no, as if it _had _broken.

"Tell him," a familiar voice whispered. "When he comes for you, tell him I'm sorry. There isn't anything he or anyone can do. But I wish there was. Tell him . . . "

"Why should I consent to bear your messages to a man I haven't seen in months and never will again! Do not ask me to trust you, Rider. My trust died when my father betrayed me!"

"But you trust that your lover will come."

"I trust that he will do everything in his power to save me. That is what I trust. I do _not _trust that he will succeed." The woman's voice took on a pleading note. "Why do you keep me here? I have told you all I know about Roran and Eragon. Why don't you let me go? Why am I daily punished for what I cannot help?"

"Believe me, Katrina, I am no less a prisoner then you. It is not my will that the Ra'zac hold you captive."

"_Why _do the keep me? I'd be better off dead then here, and a sight less trouble for them."

"You are the bait. King Galbatorix would go to far more arduous measures to spring a trap on Eragon and Saphira."

"I don't understand!" Katrina cried. "Who is Saphira? And Eragon has hardly even come of age. What can he have done that so angers the King?"

"What indeed," was all the man would say.

A few muffled words were spoken which Eragon could not make out, then Katrina shouted, "I hope you die! I hope you smother in the smoke of your dragon's breath! I hope you are slain by your own sword! I hope you die a coward's death with none to mourn you, or bury your thrice-cursed bones! _I hope you die!"_

"Aye," said the voice that was Murtagh's. "And you are not the only one."

The dark mist parted, and he could see the stars once more. A phantasmagoria of images and memories played out before him against the spangled backdrop, but Eragon could barely see it. He was concentrating too hard on what he had heard.

When the sky was pearly gray with approaching dawn, he sat up. Saphira hummed against his back, waiting for him to speak first.

_What were the words I spoke, Saphira? _he asked at last.

_You said 'dream whispers' in the ancient language, the spell that allows you to hear as well as scry._

_Do you think that that spell can get past the wards he and I both have to prevent scrying when used on its own? Or has Galbatorix just decided that it was no longer worth hiding Murtagh from me?_

_Try to scry him now, in your waking. _

Eragon nodded. It was a good idea. He rummaged around in his pack until he found his polished dwarf-helm.

"Draumr kópa_" d__ream stare, _he said in the ancient language, concentrating on his turn-coat brother. The mirror-bright surface went dark. He broke off the spell, then tried the same thing with "Draumr kvisa,"_dream whisper. _Nothing happened. He frowned.

_Maybe its a combination of the waking dreams and the spell, which eludes me when I'm awake. Oromis_

_said there were spells like that._

Roran stretch in his sleep, then woke. It was instantaneous,with no period of muzzy confusion. He was alert for danger, and anticipation of finally rescuing Katrina seemed to make him vibrate like a plucked harp. And, like a second harp, Eragon caught the excitement and vibrated too. He would be glad to see an end to his cousins grief and quest for vengeance. The hardened defenses he'd raised would be better knocked down by contentment with Katrina, and maybe she could heal the hint of madness that Eragon sometimes saw in Roran's eye.

After a a cold breakfast of dried meat, stale bread and cheese, they made ready to leave. Because they both featured prominently on 'wanted' message boards throughout Alagaësia , Eragon used a spell to alter their appearances. Roran hair became black, his nose long and crooked, while Eragon changed his entire face, as an elf-like human would draw attention anywhere. They agreed on false names, then left for Dras-Leona, Saphira twitching her tail agitatedly behind them.

There was less trouble then there might have been entering the city. The guards questioned them as to their purpose in the city, but that was only to be expected. Together, the cousins wove a tail of a sick friend who they were coming to fetch away from the hustle and bustle of Dras-Leona, "for the good of his health." Within minutes, the guards tired of them and sent the on their way in the city.

"Where are we going?" Roran asked, fingering the heft of his hammer. It was too distinctive to be worn openly, so he had tucked it into a pouch tied to his belt.

"To the palace," Eragon replied in an undertone. Saphira's worry was a constant distraction at the back of his mind, like a gnat, so he blocked her out. She'd still be able to contact him if need be.

"The palace? Why? What's that got to do with the Ra—"

"Shh!" Eragon hushed his cousin. "Keep your voice down, and don't mention our —" he searched for a word, "—Our _unusual acquaintances. _Even the walls have ears."

Chastened, Roran reined in his enthusiasm to rescue Katrina.

With his mind, Eragon explained to Roran how he and Brom had made a plan for getting to the Ra'zac. Every full moon, two slaves were sent to Helgrind with a supply of the Ra'zac's favored food_._ If the two of them could somehow replace the slaves, then they could approach the Ra'zac's lair without arousing suspicion. Flying there on Saphira would be easiest, but it was hard to be subtle when a twenty-foot dragon with scintillating blue scales was figured into the equation.

Roran shivered. He remembered Quimby, Birgit's husband, who had been slain in battle during the siege of Carvahall. His body had be spirited away by the two black-cloaked Ra'zac. When a to-do had been made over getting back the brewer's body, his bones had been returned to the villagers, picked clean and cracked open for the marrow. Was it possible that the slaves were not just the carriers of food but the food itself?

They approached the palace from the side, then tapped on what Eragon took to be the kitchen door from the thoughts he picked up from the servants within. It was opened by a large, thick-waisted matron who took one look at the pair of them through her small piggy eyes and saw a distraction from every day, hum-drum work. It was only too easy to convince her that they were renowned storytellers from Teirm, come to earn a little money where they could.

"Oh, that 'uld be a treat now, wouldn't it. We already 'ave a minstrel 'ere, but she's a youngling 'un, and to tell you honest an' true, she's a bit of a country lass."

Eragon smile politely, and began an old tale which Brom had told at Carvahall. All the while, he sifted through the servants' minds for any useful information. He hated the breach of privacy, but it was the only way to get the knowledge they needed that wouldn't arouse suspicion. With ease, he found out everything they needed to know.

The full moon was two days away, and the slaves were to depart from the south entrance to the palace at dusk. They would be accompanied by guards as far as the city limits, but after that, it would be a simple matter to ambush them and take their places. I troubled him that they didn't know how the slaves were approached by the Ra'zac, but he couldn't see any way around that.

For the rest of the morning, Eragon and Roran wandered the servant's hall and passages, telling stories. Just as they were about to tell on last tale and be on their way, they ran into the minstrel. She was a tall, slender girl, no more then sixteen years old. In her gloved hands, she held a lute. Her long, curly brown hair was braided and wrapped around her head. She had an open, friendly air about her that drew one in, but it was not this that made Eragon curious about her.

Her mind had defenses of iron, so strong that he was reminded of Murtagh. Once, Eragon had tried to search his mind for any ill intent Murtagh might have toward himself and Saphira, but his probe had slide away as easily as if it had been coated in butter. This girl had the same astonishing degree of protection from mental attack. The openness of her face and the protectedness of her mind seemed oddly contradictory.

For all he would have liked to talk with her, find out more about her, it wasn't wise to linger in Dras-Leona any longer then they had to, and they had another errand to do before they left.

Fifteen minutes later, in a crowded market square, Roran asked his cousin in an undertone, "What are we doing here? Shouldn't we get out of the city now, when there're still a lot of people passing through the gates? We need to leave by another one, so we don't run into those guards again, so it'll take a while to get beck to Saphira anyway."

Eragon nodded. "We don't need to stay long. I just want to hear the news. When Brom and I were here, we had to leave in a hurry, partly because I ran into the Ra'zac and a bunch of soldiers, and partly because Galbatorix was due to visit within the week. It was the first time he'd left Urû'baen in over a decade. The ruler of Dras-Leona — his name is Marcus Tábor — had been getting above himself, and it must have been something pretty serious too, as he can do as he likes here, so Galbatorix was coming to straighten things out. 'Teach him a lesson in humility' Brom said. He also taught me that it pays to know what's going on. Come on. We'll buy some fresh food."

"Do you have money? Because all mine went to purchasing supplies for Carvahall." Roran said.

Eragon grinned ruefully. "Its almost embarrassing how much money I've been given. Nasuada, as my liege lord, gave me some. Orik, as the new leader of my clan, Durgrimst Ingietum, and my foster brother, gave me more. Arya, as the only elf outside of Du Weldenvarden, gave me even more. Its ridiculous."

"Oh." Roran didn't seen to be able to manage any more then that. Eragon wondered, not for the first time, how strange it must be for his cousin to look at him and see a Rider.

_About as strange, _he realized,_ as it is for me to look at _my _cousin and see a visionary madman who gives speeches moving enough to get the whole village of Carvahall to uproot itself and traipse across half of Alagaësia, battling the Empire every step of the way. _Still, it was unsettling to have such tangible evidence of how much he — they both — had changed in less then a year.

_Stop worrying how you've changed! _Saphira contacted him, the tread of anxiety less dominant then it had been earlier that morning. _You have a job to do; do it! Lingering in a major city is not a luxery granted to men wanted across the Empire!_

_Relax, Saphira. We're well disguised. And before you say that the illusions will wear my strength down to maintain, let me remind you that I have all the power I've stored in the belt of Beloth the Wise to draw upon if I need to, and the energy stored in the crystal on Ordstirr Muna._

Ordstirr Muna was a blade that Orik had given him to replace Zar'roc.. Its hilt was covered with raised silver wire images of the Riders in their glory. They made Eragon fell a little wistful, to see the silvery dragons and their shining Riders. The raised wires also made for an excellent grip. He had named it Ordstirr Muna, the words from the ancient language meaning 'remember the renown.'

_That may be, but hurry! I have an itching down my back that makes me nervous. Something bad is going to happen, Eragon!_

_If your back itches, _he thought back to her grumpily, _then find a nice big tree and scratch. _But he didn't mean it, and she knew he was on his guard now. Dragons had instincts that humans did not.

It seemed that Galbatorix's visit to Dras-Leona was no secret, nor was its purpose. The baker Eragon and Roran bought a loaf of hard brown bread was more then willing to tell the tale, and, by touching the baker's mind, Eragon was able to separate fact from the man's own invention meant to impress the 'country bumpkins.'

Galbatorix arrived on schedule, only a short time after Eragon and Brom had fled the city. In the main square of the city, right outside the cathedral dedicated to Helgrind, Galbatorix's spokesman had made a declaration announcing that Marcus Tábor had been removed from power and replaced by a new ruler, Ifbraigo the Navigator, a man even more ruthless then his proceeder. There had been a lot of funny things going on since Ifbraigo came to power.

"Helgrind the Greatest knows what'll become of us all," the baker added with feeling.

When they had thanked the man and paid him for the bread, Roran asked "Helgrind the Greatest?"

"The people here worship the three peaks of Helgrind. There's actually a fourth, but generally it's overlooked and ignored as being not as worth of praise as the other three. The priests of Helgrind aren't in consensus about which has the highest summit and is therefore the most superior, though. It's safer to just say 'the Highest' then say 'the Middle,' or 'the Westerly,' which would be expressing an opinion which could then be taken offense at. Brom told me that it's a nasty sort of religion. Something about drinking human blood and chopping off body parts."

"Oh," said Roran.

-

They made it out of the city with as little difficulty as they had had getting in, though they used the south gate as Roran had suggested rather then having to dodge past the guards they'd passed earlier. Dusk was creeping over the sky; only in the west was there still sunlight visible.

The monstrous rock formation, Helgrind, blotted out most of the southern horizon, its three highest peaks almost a mile high. As they watched, a dark shadow detached itself from the larger, darker shadow of Helgrind. Eragon shivered. Could it be one of the Ra'zac's monstrous steads, the Lethrblaka?

Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Roran's hand go to the heft of his ax.

Eragon laid a hand on his cousin's arm. "Soon we will storm Helgrind, my brother. Soon."

Roran nodded. Storming Helgrind was, after all, his purpose now.

* * *

**Old Norse Words That I Pilfered: **

**Story word – meaning – Old Norse word**

(Draumr) kvisa - whisper - kvisa

Ordstirr Muna (Eragon's new sword) – O renown M remember – orðstirr muna

Ifbraigo (the Navigator) (new ruler of Dras-Leona) - Demeanor - yfirbragð

* * *


	2. Strange Meetings

**Thanks to Hazelcloud and Canadian-Girl14 for the reviews!**

**Things are about to get out of the typical 'Roran and Eragon go to rescue Katrina' rut that so many stories get stuck in. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Sir Gwydion **

Chapter Two: Strange Meetings

Why Eragon came out of his rest at that moment, he couldn't say precisely, but some instinct told him there was danger nearby. For a fleeting moment, he felt his mind brush against another consciousness, then it was gone. The shock of the contact made him jolt upright. Beside him, Saphira hummed comfortingly, but there was an edge of growl to the noise that made Roran, who had been fast asleep, start and wake. Eragon signaled him to keep silent, then rose to his feet, stretching out his consciousness as far as he could. There was nothing but birds and beasts and insects, just beginning to stir in the pre-dawn light.

_Something strange is going on, _he said to Saphira. _I don't like it._

_Nor do I, little one. _

Eragon shivered with foreboding. To Roran he said, "We should do some scouting today, at noon."

"Because the Ra'zac aren't as strong in the sun," Roran nodded. It was a sensible plan, for all it would be easier to pass unseen in the dark.

"Let's have some of that bread we bought yesterday for breakfast, then I'm going to scry Nasuada to see how the Varden is doing. I still don't feel right about leaving like that, right after the battle. . ."

_After the battle was the best time to leave, Eragon. You know that. Galbatorix will still be licking his wounds._

_I know, but I still wish there were another way. _

"Eragon?"

"What?" he replied, a little grumpily.

"When you asked Lady Nasuada for permission to hunt down the Ra'zac, what did she mean by 'I would have little luck refusing you'?"

Eragon let out a sharp sigh. He wasn't used to his new power and influence himself. "To make a long story short, if I were to oppose Nasuada in any way — even though I've sworn fealty to her — it's a hundred to one against that the Varden would follow me, not her."

Roran grunted, picking at his breakfast. "The man's flour's full of sawdust, the cheat," he observed at length. They both ate the bread anyway.

Picking up his dwarven helmet, Eragon muttered "Draumr kópa eda kvisa."

Darkness swirled over the helmet's surface, then lifted to reveal Nasuada, looking extremely annoyed.

"Orrin—" she began, but the King of Surda cut her off.

"_No, _Nasuada, not this time. Things have really gone too far. They have broken my law, and this is my country. I will punish them as I see fit."

In the corner of the image, a cluttered study, Eragon saw movement: Arya. She stood up, and gave Orrin a cool stare. He couldn't hold her gaze.

"King Orrin, if I might remind you," the elf said with the even, uninflected tone common to her race when discussing matters of importance, "In the past, you have always agreed that Lady Nasuada should dispense justice among her own. I freely admit that stealing is an offense, but it might help if you would explain your vehemence that you deal with this particular case yourself. I would suggest—"

Eragon ended the spell. If they were arguing over a crime, not discussing battle plans, then there was nothing for him to worry about for the time being. The sight of Arya had unsettled him. It wasn't that he felt attracted to her, it was that he _didn't. _His hopeless love had become so much a part of him that it felt peculiar to be able to look at the elf's lovely face and not feel the familiar twist in his gut. What had happened to it?

All morning, he sat under a tall oak, brooding over the quandary, but by the time noon came, he still had no answers. Saphira was likewise baffled, but considerably less troubled.

_I knew it would take care of itself, _she said, _just like my love for Glaedr disappeared. Perhaps they were neither of them love at all. _

_Thats not true! _Eragon snapped. _On the night of the __Agaeti Blodhren__, my heart really did feel like it was breaking._

_Perhaps it has healed. _

_I don't know, Saphira. It seems that because my contact with you has already finished with making me stronger and my ears pointed and otherwise changing my body, my system just has to find something else to do to put me off my stride. At least you're a dragon. Dragons a doers of strange things, not recipients of them._

_Well, if we were both dragons, then your attraction to Arya would have been even more confusing to you._

_Thanks, Saphira. I feel much better now._

She laughed her rumbling laugh._ Just a thought, little one. _

In spite of himself, Eragon smiled. He squinted up at the sun. "Come on Roran," he said, shaking his cousin awake. "It's time to go."

-

They made their way through Dras-Leona, disguising themselves differently then before and taking care not to be seen. Very few people were out in the streets as they walked briskly across the city. It wasn't until they reached the central square around the cathedral of Helgrind that they discovered where they all were. From within the vast cathedral, they could hear the muffled sound of chanting, hundreds and hundreds of voices in the same rising, rolling, indecipherable rhythm.

_Loud soft soft loud soft soft loud loud loud, soft crescendo to loud, loud soft soft . . . _

Suddenly there was a scream from within. They both jumped, hair rising on the backs of their necks. The piercing wail followed them as they hurried across the square and toward the south gate.

"A nasty sort of religion," Roran muttered under his breath.

In Eragon's mind, Saphira voiced her agreement.

_I may not agree with the elves that there are no gods, _Eragon said, _but given a choice between the two, I'd rather have no gods then ones that demand blood and the sacrifice of flesh. _Then a thought occurred to him. _Saphira, do the dragons have any gods? You never told me, and there was nothing about and dragon deities in the scrolls I read at Ellesméra. _

_We do not have gods as you have them, _she replied. _There is Wind, and there is Fire, and there is Earth and Water, and above in the sky, too high for flight, there are the Stars. We do not worship them, but we acknowledge them. Dragons, after all, are born of Wind and Flame._

The guards at the south gate were playing dice. Without a word, they let Eragon and Roran through the gate, and went back to their game with an avidity to make Eragon think that it was seldom that anything of interest happened at the southernmost gate of Dras-Leona.

Warily, the pair crossed the grassy plain that surrounded Helgrind. It took them almost an hour, the sun beating down on the tops of their heads and little grass seeds sticking to the sweat on their foreheads and necks.

"Let's climb to that ledge, then see what there is to be seen," Eragon said, pointing to a small jutting formation of stone halfway up the fourth and by far the smallest peak of Helgrind. The heat was intense as the brilliant sunlight reflected off the glassy black stone, and after a few minutes climbing, Eragon cut his thumb on a broken shard. It was nigh on impossible to climb this portion of Helgrind, and it was more like a hill then a mountain. It would be impossible to surmount any of the other three peaks without the help of a dragon, or some other creature capable of flight any large enough to carry a man, such as the Lethrblaka of the Ra'zac. And even if you made it to the top, there would be no way to tell from the ground which peak the Ra'zac had made their home in. It was a virtually impenetrable

fortress.

When they finally made it to the ledge, the sun was past its zenith and was arching down toward the west. If they took too long about looking around, they would be making their way back through Dras-Leona in the dark.

From their vantage point, it was easy to see that Helgrind would be as heard to approach unseen as it would be to climb, except on the blackest of nights. _And we must do it at full moon! _Eragon thought.

The plain made it child's play to spot movement. A great rippling went through the grass when ever anything moved. The nearest Saphira would be able to get was the edge of the forest, two hundred yards from the base of Helgrind.

At least the grass would make it simple to ambush the slaves bearing the Ra'zac's food. Just lie in the shoulder high grass, the jump out at them. As long as it was swift and silent, without a fight, there would be barely a stir to notice the exchange by.

_Still, _he thought, _I would rather face them during the day. _

"What chance do we have, Eragon?" Roran had been silent for a long time; his voice made Eragon start.

"With Saphira, I know we can defeat them. Without her," he hesitated. "I'm not sure. I haven't come into contact with them since the Blood Oath Ceremony, and its so difficult to judge out comparative strength when I was so much weaker then. They just seemed strong, terribly strong. But they can't use magic, and I can. They can't move as fast as an elf, I can." he smiled at his cousin. "They don't have a furious cousin, armed with a hammer, out to rescue his beloved on their side, I do."

_Katrina. _Eragon saw his cousin's lips form the word, but he didn't speak it.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get back to our camp before Saphira decides to come out and look for us."

-

In the forest, on route back to Saphira, Eragon's senses twitched. As he was now in the habit of doing, he had left his mind open so he could to sense the intentions of others. It was a strange feeling, knowing that there was a hungry mosquito stalking you, or that the bird in a nearby tree had three nestlings to feed. It gave him a feeling of awe. So much was going on, all the time, every second of every day, and he was aware of so little of it.

But it wasn't a sense of awe that came to him now, but of foreboding.

"Roran," he breathed. "Keep going. Talk loudly as if I'm still with you. Someone's following us."

Instantly, Roran drew his hammer, and began saying, "That thrice-cursed baker! I can't believe we weren't suspicious! From the first instant we saw, him, him and his slimy grin, I didn't trust him. Sawdust in his flour! If I ever see him again . . ."

Eragon ignored the words, hiding behind a tree. There were two people approaching. Both minds were well shielded, and one of them was familiar.

_The minstrel girl from the palace! _he realized. If only her mental defenses weren't so strong, and her companion's likewise impenetrable.

_Saphira, stop that! h_e snapped as she radiated worry, her thoughts projecting images of her leaping out of the concealed clearing where they had camped and tearing the intruders apart. Quickly, she set her thoughts in order, not wanting to distract him when he needed to concentrate so much.

Two figures came into sight, moving at a quick pace. One was indeed the minstrel girl, her thick brown braid wrapped securely around her head. Beside her was an older, slightly taller girl with long black hair plaited down her back. Even through the forest gloom, Eragon could see the profusion of freckles that covered her nose and cheeks. There was something familiar about them both, as if he had seen them once, long ago. They both wore tunics and leggings in forest greens and browns with bows slung over their backs, by Eragon hadn't seen women dressed in men's clothing until he had reached the Varden. Where had he seen them before?

Silent as a ghost slipped out of the ether, he followed the pair. Within a minute or two, they had caught up with Roran, who was now silent. They were only a few paces away when Roran heard them. He spun around, raising his hammer.

"Stop," said the minstrel girl, notching an arrow and lifting her bow to point its head at his chest. Her voice, too, seemed as if Eragon had heard it before.

"Where's the other one?" she said. "We only want to talk to you, but tell me or I'll shoot."

The black haired girl looked around, her own bow at the ready. Roran swung his hammer at her swiftly, snapping her bow in two. She laughed, and an ominous, blue-green glow appeared, cupped in her left had, the one not holding the shattered bow. "I know a hundred ways to kill you without a weapon," she said. "And all of them would hurt more then the arrow. But we don't want to kill you. So tell us, where is your friend?" A red welt had appeared on her cheek where the bowstring had lashed her as its tension was released, but she ignored it. The glow in her palm grew brighter, and all the color drained from Roran's face. The girl stepped forward, her lips parted as if to speak.

Before she could do anything, Eragon said, "Èthor, herda elikamis tuas abovar," _Air, harden around their bodies._

The black haired girl cursed as Eragon stepped out of hiding. Roran looked relieved. He pointed his hammer toward the black haired girl. "She's a sorceress, if you didn't see."

"I did," Eragon replied, his eyes flitting between the two young women. "That's why I gagged her with magic. We'll get this one to talk."

"Flyta mon bandas," _remove my bonds, _the minstrel girl said.

"No" Eragon shouted, as he felt the massive drain on her energy. As he had done only once before, he broke off a spell. Both he and the minstrel winced as little tendrils of magic snapped back at them.

" Èthor, herda elikami tua abovar," _Air, harden around her body,_ Eragon said, this time gagging her. "Don't you know that if you do that, it'll get you killed!" he burst out in frustration. She only narrowed her eyes at him defiantly, but he could tell that he had ceased his spell just in time to save her life. "So, now that you've established that I'm a much more powerful spell caster then you, no more brainless stunts that will end with you dead, understand?"

An almost imperceptible nod was all the answer he would get.

"You said you only want to talk," Eragon continued. "So I'm going to let you go, for now. But don't try anything." With that, he released his spell.

"Well," the black haired girl muttered. "_That _was more then we'd bargained for, and no mistake."

"Now, what do you want with me and my companion?"

"Names first," she said. "Call me Lee."

"Call you? Isn't it your real name?"

"Well, if you'd rather go whole-hog and call me by my given name, feel free. But I warn you, its a mouthful." When he made no comment, the girl shrugged. She seemed remarkably relaxed for someone who had, not five minutes before, been making death threats. "Whatever pleases you. Ha'leeriara Lastrovyn, at your service."

Eragon winced. "Lee, then. I'm Evan Nealson, and this is my cousin, Bale."

Her eyes narrowed. "Liar."

Caught off balance, Eragon managed to say, "Why would you say that?"

Lee let out a sharp sigh, and rubbed the welt on her cheek absently. "Because I'm — cursed, I suppose you might call it. I can't ever tell a lie, and I almost always know when someone else is spinning mist."

Curiosity overcame caution. "Why is that?" he asked.

"My mother was a sorceress. It has something to do with the fact that grew up speaking the ancient language. I take it you know about the ancient language," she added ironically.

"I speak the ancient language, but I don't have any problem telling lies."

"As you have so beautifully demonstrated, _Evan. _I really can't say. There isn't any sensible explanation." She smiled. "Angela always said that curses run in my family."

"You know Angela the herbalist?"

"Yes, of course, she was my —"

"Eragon!" Roran said. The minstrel girl had drawn her knife.

Lee shook her head. "Don't. I think he really might be the one she told me about." The other girl slid her knife back into its sheath, then leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree, toying with the finger of her glove.

"She?" Eragon asked, becoming more baffled by the moment.

"Yes, Angela. I am — was, rather, — her apprentice."

"And she told you about me? When? Why?"

"Yes she told me about you, if your name really is Eragon."

Roran cursed under his breath.

Unruffled, Lee continued, sitting down tailor fashion and resting her back against a tree. "She told me a few days ago, by a speech spell. She's very good at them. I don't know why. All that she said was this : 'Lee, my dear, if you are still in Dras-Leona, have a look around for an acquaintance of mine. He'll make for good conversation, and he was a friend of your father's. His name is Eragon.'"

"That's all?"

Lee considered. "She also told me to watch out for saucy merchants and never to go swim in Leona Lake right after eating, in typical Angela fashion. But nothing about why she wanted me to meet you."

"Who's you're father, then?"

"He's dead. His name was Brom."

"_Brom?_"

Then suddenly, Eragon remembered a conversation he'd had with Angela, the first time he'd seen her at Farthen Dûr.

"_Brom was cursed in a way. It was his wyrd to fail at all of his tasks except one, although through no fault of his own. He was chosen as a Rider, but his dragon was killed. He loved a woman, but it was his affection that was her undoing. And he was chosen, I assume, to guard and train you, but in the end he failed at that as well. The only thing he ever succeeded at was killing Morzan, and a better deed he couldn't have done."_

"_Brom never mentioned any woman to me," _Eragon had retorted. In his mind's eye, he could see the herbalist's careless shrug.

"_I heard it from one who couldn't have lied."_

Couldn't have lied. . . could Angela have been referring to Lee? It was possible.

"Alright," he said tentatively. "Let's say for a minute that I believe you. Tell me about your mother."

She arched one black brow, as if she had guessed that he was just trying to gain some thinking time. All the same. She answered his question. "Her name was Leana Lastrovyn. She was with Brom at Gil'ead. She got separated from the others. Father's face was well known throughout the Empire, and through him, Mother. She was recognized and killed by one of Galbatorix's men."

Eragon shook his head in amazement. The fact that she knew Brom had been in Gil'ead vouched for the truth of the unlikely tale. _I wonder if she knows what Brom was doing in Gil'ead. She might even know that Saphira's egg hatched and that I'm a Rider!_

He turned to face the minstrel girl, who was picking at the bark of the tree she was propped up against. He looked into her innocent, liquid brown eyes. Innocent of battle and bloodshed, death and choice, of all the cares that had so unexpectedly landed on his shoulders when he was fifteen, and as innocent as she was now.

"And you," he said. "What's your name?"

She looked back at him curiously. "My name is Selena," she said.

**Old Norse Words That I Pilfered: Chapter 2  
**

**Story word – meaning – Old Norse word**

Draumr kvisa - whisper – kvisa

Draumr kópa – dream stare -

eda – and – eða

herda – harden – herða

elikamis – bodies -- líkami (singular)

flyta – remove – flytja

bandas – bonds – band (singular)

**What do you think? I tried to work according to the book as much as possible. If you see anything that doesn't fit, let me know! Reviews are always appreciated! **

**Sir Gwydion **


	3. Author's Note

**Hi! **

**I'm going to be away for a few days, but I'll be back Thursday and I really truly promise to write a new chapter as soon as I'm settled. If, by weekend after next, there are no updates, I give you all full permission to be horrendously angry with me. **

**In the meantime, have fun! **

**You'll be hearing from me soon via Fan Fiction!**

**Sir Gwydion**


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